


A Stone Womb

by hmhm46



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bestiality, Body hair is a myth, Breeding, Eggpreg, F/F, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Impregnation, Indirect F/F For Now, Monster of the Week, Monsters, Multi, Other, Plants, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Magic, Sexless Chapter 1, Slime, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmhm46/pseuds/hmhm46
Summary: Mura has always wanted to be a knight.But how wasteful wouldthatbe?[Each chapter is named after whatever the Cave has in store for the poor tomboy — and you by extension.]
Comments: 2
Kudos: 88





	1. Conversation? Story!?

Mura

_  
It'll rain soon..._  
  
"Dammit," she muttered with a frown, glancing at the moss-ridden pit from the shadow of a collapsed tree trunk. The pit stared back at her — she felt it, even while hiding behind the rotting bark. _Like the old man's mouth, when he realized he couldn't spit out whatever killed him... Poor bastard. Maybe the ground'll die just like him, if I keep waitin'._ _But then, maybe I'll keep it company if I take the witch head on._   
  
_But it'll rain soon..._   
  
_Can't very well stay, can I?_   
Two days had already been spent. Two days of sitting in the cold, misty woods, silently praying the howling wolves were far off, and _wolves_ to begin with. _Another day and the rain'll soak me to the bone. And deafen me to the beasts' prowlin' too..._   
_  
Will she even come out if the rain drags on? _Distant lightning illuminated the murky sky, as if to answer the sufficiently superstitious.   
  
_...So it's retreat then?_   
  
Her belly voiced its opinion in the form of an unhealthy _grrr~gle._   
_Lord's tears, it's only been a **day** , you glutton!   
  
_Her attention drifted to the pitiful contents of her coinpurse, which left their mark on the inside of her stiffly clenched fist. _Enough for a meal. Enough to go home._ _Dead-tired and starved, but enough, if I cut my losses.  
  
... _   
  
_No.  
_  
 _A knight would put their fears aside — not slink away from what's right because it might kill them. Knights are better than that. **I**_ _have to be better than that._   
She abandoned her disagreeable hiding spot, striding into what little light breached the swaying, ashen canopies.   
  
Her ragged cloak was too damp to sway alongside them and so, settled for clinging to her armor: marred with rust, and wounds that made it clear she wasn't the first to wear it. It was tight, and old, but she rejected every reason to rid herself of the thing. After all, she must have been the armor's senior, having endured 19 winters. Throwing it away would have been hypocritical as far as she was concerned. Or rather, it would have 'made her like one of those people that call you dumb, but live in taverns', given her limited vocabulary.   
  
A shield weighed on her left forearm more harshly than she liked, but she cared for it well, and _it_ repaid her in kind.   
At her hip idled a sword, which unfortunately matched the armor in disrepair. Many parts of the blade were chipped, whereas others refused to cut so much as grass. Still, holding onto its grip made her feel safer, and scared the drunkards away.   
  
As for the helmet... well, she never found one. Nor the head within, which was likely for the best. Besides, none of the good knights ever wore helmets in her mother's stories. A face can make one memorable, for better or worse.   
  
Her _own_ face brimmed with boyish charm, accentuated by an oddly charming chipped tooth. According to some. Most held less forgiving opinions on her appearance, herself included.   
Well, at least her sun-tanned skin had never been scarred, and her sharp, brown eyes could still see well enough. At least, when her black, jaw-length hair wasn't in a loving mood. It seemed the messy thing had a passionate affair with her eyelashes. The sword fared no better against hair than it did against grass, so it seemed said affair would endure.   
  
Whatever the case, her features twisted with worry as she worked to disarm the trip-wire she'd set at the lair's lips. It would have been quick work, if not for her constant glancing towards the dark, narrow passage. Imagined monstrosities churned within whenever she looked away, eager to drag her inside the moment she became distracted.   
Darkness was an old friend, but the things below, the things she'd heard of — they scared her.   
  
Finally, she placed her tools back into a pouch at her hip, staring down into the hungry pit as the sky darkened and her heart threatened to burst from within her. _Knights do not abide cowardice._  
  
She pressed on as rain overtook the forest.   


* * *

  
The light and the _pitter-patter_ faded as she stalked further down, abandoning her with the rusted sound of her own footsteps. They served only as a reminder to wrap her sabatons in cloth, so as to be stifled. That done, she had better chances of taking her foe by surprise. She'd have flattened herself against the damp, mossy wall as well, were it not for its coarse edges, which threatened to scrape against her armor or snag her cloak with each step. Such mistakes could end her.  
  
_Maybe I could go back, reset the wire and make a buncha noise or someth-_ _No! Don't let fear do your thinking.  
  
_...  
  
She felt the moss gradually give way to bare, smooth stone beneath her gloved palm, and soon even the darkness was held back. Beyond the tunnel's bend, she found strange, spongy growths dotting the walls, soaking them in a radiant, purple glow. _Like somethin' from a storybook... Mother would have loved to see them._   
  
Her eyes reflected the overpowering glow for quite a while, absentmindedly drawing nearer with each passing moment. _...They could be dangerous._ She stepped away, and gave the growths the widest berth the tunnel would allow as they led her to a round, windowless wooden door which suited the uneven passage eerily well.   
Her fingers found its handle, but retreated without a sound.   
  
_Door's too heavy not to give me away, and a botched ambush would only bite me in the ass._ She nibbled her lip, inhaled, and knocked on the black, wooden surface.  
A loud ** _Crrreeeeaaak_** announced its opening.   
  
_Knew it. Father may have been... well, **was** a thief, but his skills are worth a dozen swords. _   
  
Her heart's beat quickened as she peered through the gradually growing gap. The ground, walls and ceiling were made up of clean rock, occasionally cracked by persistent roots. The small room was illuminated by growths, and lined with bookshelves, which endured heavy tomes and colorful jars. Dusty, scattered books covered a large desk's surface, and a nearby chair confirmed her suspicions. _The furniture's **grown**. It's witchcraft, no doubt. _Her heart rampaged, as if it meant to batter her chest down.   
  
An occupied bed temporarily avoided notice in its dark corner, cradling a smaller, deathly pale girl — facing away, smothered in blankets. The girl wasn't anything like what Mura expected witches to look like, but then, she'd never seen one. Her eyes darted around in search of starved monsters and hateful crones.   
None were found, and silence became unsettling.   
  
_How do knights say it again?  
  
_...  
  
"I'm here for the boy," she declared with unusual gallantry, minding her speech.   
  
The quiet girl moved only to breathe and reply, which she did with unnerving tranquility. _"I'm_ here for my own safety. Life tends to brim with such cruelties."   
  
_Of course she'd be the difficult sort._ "Are you saying he isn't here?" Mura stepped in, ignoring her wailing instincts. The ceiling clearly wasn't meant for those of her stature, and forced her knightly posture to bend.  
  
"I mean to say I haven't seen him. Which I would have, if he'd attempted to skulk into my home and leer at the bioluminescent fungi."   
  
_Biolumi...? Fungi. 'Fungi' I can remember._  
 _No. She's distracting me. I can't let her._ "Do you expect me to take your word, heretic?"   
  
"My home endures no such infestation, but by all means, intruder, forage for juveniles at your leisure," the witch said with hints of cheek, smothered in exhaustion. "So long as you care for my possessions as well you would for your own flesh."   
  
She bit her lip in frustration. "Don't try to trick me with big words!"   
_Wealthy folk always do that. Damn 'em all._ _What's so 'dumb' about sayin' the same things but faster?!_  
  
The witch turned and strained to sit up, observing her with a lightly furrowed brow, flanked by long, straight locks of pale hair.   
  
_Like a doll- the doll that fat nobleman's daughter carried around. Not like the straw ones. Girly, pretty, but wrong — not human, somehow..._ Envy writhed within her regardless, but she tried her best to stifle it. _And the eyes..._ They were tired, dark-green things, full of confusion and... and pity. Her jaw tightened and cheeks burned.   
_The rest of her's all twisted. I don't know how, but I know it's true. There's no life in 'er, like some godless thing stole it. Skin **this** pale, and wintered hair on a girl this young. 20 at most — she couldn't have gone gray already... _   
  
_Are eyes all that's left of the girl she was before damning herself?_  
  
"Apol- I'm sorry. You may search my home. Gently." The witch's voice had lost its bite.  
  
An ache in her chest reminded her to breathe...   
  
The room was quite small, so there wasn't much to search. Which was for the best, as the witch never blinked nor stopped observing Mura while she checked for secret passageways behind the bookshelves, taking great care to avoid toppling them. She wasn't allowed to open the jars, but even through murky glass it was clear their contents weren't human remains, or fit to be looked upon. _Vile._ She was also instructed to remove her rusted gauntlets before rummaging through the girl's clothing, all of which consisted of long, plain, gray dresses woven with fabric she'd never touched, nor seen. She may have lingered beyond necessity.   
Finally, she checked it all again, to be certain, remembering to look beneath the bed this time. Which made for a rather unsettling experience, as the witch was still on it, as intensely vigilant as ever. Common sense was all that kept Mura from reaching for the comfort of a bared blade.  
  
_Nothin'. Just glass tubes, strange trinkets, a dead spider and a flat rock that stayed warm without sun or fire — the creepy thing. No sign of anyone but the witch._  
 _But where else could he be?_  
 _  
__...Of course!_ "Help me find him then. Prove you're innocent."   
  
"The woods are much too vast to bother."   
  
"Too vast?" Mura repeated, as if it were nonsense.   
  
The witch's brow furrowed again. "It means big."   
  
_I know what vast-!_ She brushed the frustration aside and raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "You sold your soul and the woods are still too vast for you to find _one_ lost boy?"   
  
...  
  
Her bravery fled as the witch squinted at her.   
  
"Mm, I appreciate the attempt. How old is this boy of yours?"   
  
She grinned as pressure lifted. "18 winters! What could keep him alive, but missing for a fortnight?"   
  
"...Why is it that you call him 'boy'? Should I be referring to you as 'hag'?"   
  
"Because it's...!" _Knightly._ "Leave me be!" Her voice cracked.   
  
The witch simply stared at her, and then her armor, for an uncomfortably long time. "Few creatures desire living humans."   
  
"Take me to them."   
  
"...Why is it that you suspect he still lives? Why-"   
  
"He has to!"   
  
_If he doesn't, then... it's over. I won't get paid. I won't be a knight. I never will, coin or no coin, but at least I could..._  
 _I could pretend.  
  
For a bit longer..._  
  
"Well then, if you're certain you wish to risk your safety and dign-"   
  
"I am!"   
  
"Stop interrupting, you... impatient girl," the witch somehow managed to snap without coming off as completely awake.  
  
_'Impatient... girl'...? What kinda insult is **that**? Does 'cunt' offend you? Or is it not long enough to make you look clever?   
Well, 'least now I know you **can** get pissed off._  
  
_Sigh_ "There are numerous caverns beneath this forest. Some of its denizens might abscond with a lad, or several, given the chance. If you'd have my assistance, I expect-"   
  
"Done."   
  
"You haven't even-"   
  
"Done, I said! And it's Mura," she added heartily, looking to rush past the point where second thoughts still mattered.   
  
The frail, annoyed witch hastily crawled out of bed, consulted a shelf, snatched up a heavy-looking tome and effortlessly found her way to a specific page which she then shoved into Mura's face.   
"I'm in need of its leaves, Mura. Bring them to me as payment."   
  
_Left to right._ She rushed to skim the page, frowning. _There were so many letters... How was **I** supposed'ta learn 'em all!? How's anyone!?_  
 _Why's she starin' at me? Did she notice? Is **that** why she keeps lookin' at me like that?! _  
  
The witch kept quiet, and handed her a sturdy bag which clinked as it changed hands. Leaving no time for questions, she produced two objects. The first — she shook, nearly toppling over in the process, and handed to a retreating Mura. _A glowin' rock!?_   
  
"I..." Mura began, tenuously allowing the witch to grumpily drop the wretched thing into her bag. Which didn't impede its ability to illuminate her surroundings, for whatever reason.   
  
"Will need it. Unless you've concealed a torch in your rear. There are no glowing mushrooms past this point."   
  
"Fungi?"   
  
"I... yes, glowing fungi." The witch regarded her with a weak, fleeting smile. "Now, _this one_ demands no 'heresy' on your part. It-" she cleared her throat, "produces a facsimile of my voice - my voice."   
  
Mura flinched and warily eyed the sizable, black, cowrie-like seashell as it was deposited into the bag. _It copied her voice? With no tongue?_   
  
"To find the cave's entrance, you would follow the rising sun until noon — if I wasn't in a merciful mood - merciful mood." A tangle of roots in the room's corner twisted and contorted until only a gnarled ladder remained, leading down a dark passage.   
  
_But if she could do that, then..._ "Wai-!"

The witch pressed a finger against her lips and left it there for a strange length of time. _Soft..._  
  
"I've hidden no other chambers from you. Now leave - now leave." The witch stepped back and studied her finger.   
  
Mura opened her mouth, closed it again, and silently slipped the bag's strap over a shoulder before descending the ladder. _You seem honest enough..._  


* * *

  
The roots retreated as her sabatons found damp stone. As the witch said, the place was void of light, and the stone's glow must have faded at some point. Mura couldn't even make out where the _walls_ were without it, but she'd manage.  
  
_I forgot to...!_ Warmth faded from her lips and guilt reared its head. "I'm sorry... and thank you," she whispered into the lonely darkness.  
  
"Ah, so it's _manners_ you've concealed in that rear of yours." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did... did you actually read this? Thank you, dear lunatic.


	2. Tentacle Plant

Mura

  
Mura stifled a scream, nearly smacking the bag as its contents formed the witch's voice.   
  
"Did you expect a voice-producing trinket to leave you in silence?" The witch, or well, the _seashell_ sounded amused.   
  
_Of course not! Lord's tears, woman, I'm not stupid!_ "No! You just... you didn't say you'd hear me still, is all." She laid a hand against the uneven wall and began to take well-measured steps, forgetting her knightly posture. "And shouldn't you be quiet? Whatever lives in here's gonna hear us."   
  
"My opinion remains unchanged. You should turn back, as the horrid things will find you either way if you stumble around in darkness."   
  
_Not **that** damn easily, they won't. But then, there's an easy way to prove her wrong, isn't there?_ "So you'll stop talkin' if I use the..." _What was it?_ "Light... producin' trinket?"   
  
"...If I must. But I'll lower my voice regardless, if it'll ease your worries."  
  
 _It's not worry, it's common sense! How do you expect me to search the place if you call out to damn-near every cave-beast that lives in it!?_ Frustrated, she reached back into the bag, rummaged around, pulled free an _empty_ hand, and shook it with audibly wild abandon. "There, happy?" she prodded, surrounded by a distinct _lack_ of heretical light.  
  
...  
  
_Nothin'? Well, 'least she's lettin' me work in peace._   
  
Her eyes finally adjusted to the dark again, allowing vague shapes to become visible from up close. She stopped and leaned in to admire them. _What **are** those things? Like big, twisted fangs growin' in the floor_. Her gaze followed one upwards. _And, and ceilin'!  
_ _Guess I'll ask later..._   
  
Having 'seen' enough, Mura stepped forward, only to find resistance, and moments later, force _,_ announced by a _creeeaak._  
  
"Wha-!?"   
Her stomach lurched as her legs were yanked to the side, where numerous wriggling tendrils waited to envelop more of her squirming, upended body. Panic and disorientation took her just as surely as the creaking limbs did, but she refused to be caught flailing. Scowling, she bared her rusted steel at the slender silhouettes and chopped. Her free hand pried each off in turn, but could only surpass their pace, not their numbers. _Let go._ She gritted her teeth, pouring frustration into each strike. _Let! GO!_   
It merely coiled around whatever it could reach, twisting around her arms while they fought to free her legs. Her blade left shallow wounds in the thing, which barely slowed its progress.   
  
"..." _She never said her name._ "Witch...!" She groaned. "Help!"   
  
...  
  
It tangled her limbs up tightly — leaving only the sword arm free, and only for the moment. Constricting vines crept up the shoulder, strangling the tense muscles, and with each slash of her sword, more of her freedom crept away. Struggling became useless, no matter how much force she exerted, and she exerted all she could. It only served to wear her out; to make her even more helpless, furious and pliant.   
  
"Get offa me you... damn..." a shadow approached, "...flower?!" Large, wet petals latched onto her face, smothering her sight and muffling her outrage. "Get... away!" She thrashed, taking vigorous lungfuls of the sweet-scented air as the flower's stamens tickled her nose.   
  
Thinner tendrils wandered along the rusted plate, hastily flocking to any gaps and old wounds they found in her armor. "HHaH!?" She gasped, desperate to free herself as it found her flesh. _Don't you dare!_   
  
The coarse vines trailed across her skin, following the grooves and crevices of her modestly muscled anatomy, eliciting shudders and jolts all the while. Her sword-arm poured its remaining strength into a handful of blind, furious swings, and was ensnared like the rest of her. Only her neck was spared the incessant pressure. The plant must have wanted her alive, like the witch said, for reasons she lacked the time to determine.   
"Dohn'h..." Her tongue meandered, refusing to obey.   
  
She gradually reacted less violently as the plant carressed more of her body. Squirming under the unyielding tendrils felt... almost felt good. The more she breathed in, the more pleasant it was to be gripped by the countless vines, each of which pulled in its own direction, forcing her body to bend as they wished. Only, they seemed to be in perpetual disagreement. The inability to please them all stirred something strange within her — the thought of staying, being cared for, being _productive._ _What the... hell? Why am I...?!_  
The demanding, groping collective of limbs molded her into one position, then decided she belonged in one that bore it no resemblance, then another, and another. Each taught her to resist in more pleasurable ways; to resist in ways that _weren't_ resistance, but a wonderful dance. It twisted her body with such care, shaping it into a groaning mold for her rebellious little mind.   
She'd gladly become everything it wanted her to be, once she was bridled.   
  
_Dammit... more..._  
  
The more adventurous limbs slid under the cloth she used to bind her chest, and became a perverse replacement — coiling around the base of her breasts. The soft flesh compressed under the rough tendrils and spilled into the gaps between them. It surrendered and bulged as the cords around it tightened their grip, and spiraled towards her sensitive peaks. Each teat was captured, pulled taut enough to hurt, and held in place. Her resistance grew unmistakably wanton as the vines began to rhythmically squeeze both breasts from base to tip, coaxing squeals out of her drooling mouth. Such malleable things, they were. Barren, and yet... she was strangely certain He would change that. _Yes... tighter._ She exhaled, shuddering. Useless metal left her hand, plunging towards the ground and clattering in darkness. _Bind me... mold me... milk me!_

 _Wait... that's not...?  
_   
Groping tentacles squeezed their way up her thighs and found her nethers, helping her forget where the strange desires came from. They merely taunted her needy mess of a pussy, brushing up against and promising to use _both_ of its entrances. While her rigid little clit was constricted, and tugged on, rewarding her with sweet dollops of pain. The cruel tendrils acted as living leashes, leading her like the disobedient girl she knew she was. She needed to become docile for Him. So much became clear in His grasp. Such understanding of her purpose — her potential. It wouldn't be long now, she knew. "Yesh! Kheep ah ih!" Thin strands trussed up her tongue, coaxing it to lap away at the honey-sweet petals. As if she needed more incentive.  
  
"Stop moving, Mura!" A cold, vaguely familiar voice carved into her bliss. Its volume was elevated, not by strong emotion but merely the need to be heard.  
  
She obediently inhaled in tune with the pace of her temporarily futile milking, helping her pathetic mind see His truths.   
The delectable vines around her breasts squeezed, and kneaded, and... and leaked. The rest were only wet when sullied with her own fluids, but the ones at her breasts had begun to ooze what must have been sap, and gradually slathered her with it. It wasn't sticky, just... warm, and slick. And it was all being worked into her bust with such brutal affection. She couldn't bear it. Her body couldn't! Her limbs tensed until they burned, and her toes writhed around the slim, wriggling intruders within her boots as their rough surface danced along her soles. He wanted her whole — **loved** her whole. _More... please, more..._ Wanton mewling followed each breath. She'd always wanted to belong, and now she finally would.  
  
"Are you listening to me!?"   
  
_The witch? Right, I was..._  
  
"It has no use for the dead! Remain still and you'll be released!"   
  
_I was... trying to get away, wasn't I? How'd I forget? And when?_ _I need to get away, not... not this._ "Rh... igh." She muttered weakly, before surrendering her tongue to the demanding vines.   
  
_Easy to say, damn near impossible to do._   
  
_But hell, knights were **meant** for the damn near impossible._  
She fought hard to keep her overzealous, strained body still, even as the plant's coaxing became less playful — to test its future mate. Even as strange, _delicious_ thoughts took hold of her pliant mind all over again.   
  
"Don't think of _it,_ think of me. You're doing well."   
  
_But it feels so good when I think about Him! But...! But she's right... She is, isn't she? The difficult, sad little witch._  
Her limbs gradually stopped shivering and relaxed, while her soft-spots were tugged on and squeezed. It never took her, by now, drenched slit, but instead squirmed into her urethra while she played dead. The thin, nectar-soaked vine wriggled around the narrow, ill-suited passage, forcing a stifled squeal from her trembling lips, and not _only_ for the pain of it. He wished to make use of _that_ hole too. Human males were so wasteful.  
  
_Those eyes... but..._  
  
 _He..._  
  
He kneaded her breasts in such a wonderful, perfect rhythm. They were so supple, and soon, she'd be just like them. He only needed a little more time. All she had to do was move for Him; put up a fight for him to snuff out. _What will He do to me?  
What if I squeal and fight the way that makes it feel so damn good? Will He whip me into shape? Will my tits get fat and heavy with milk? Will they be milked like this every day?!   
I can't...! I have to-! _His grip relaxed, spilling her onto the ground like trash. Her body was never raised far off the ground, which struck it fiercely all the same. She managed to stay still while the pain and echoing clatter of metal settled down. The fall helped His influence slip, but her body still yearned. _Dammit... just a bit longer...! I'm not done...!_  
  
"Remain as you are for now, but the sword's on your right... just out of reach," the witch whispered, breathily. "Stay... stay... **SCURRY!"**   


* * *

  
"Thank..." she panted, sheathing the blade and collapsing onto her back. Everything ached, and tingled, and burned, and her lungs screamed for air, but still... "Thank you."   
The inside of her armor was soaked in hot sweat. And... and _other_ things. She'd have ripped it apart and fingered herself unconscious regardless of her sluggish limbs, if not for the witch. Mura's lust-addled mind still craved His stern touch, but a part of her was so grateful to be free — to have another chance.   
  
"Half-expected you to... to have found the lad and come back by the time I returned... you cave-expert, you..." The witch's sarcasm dripped with pent-up emotion.   
  
_Why's she... out of breath?_ The question proved too difficult to hold onto, and was forgotten when another came to mind. "What was I su... supposed to do?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically.  
  
"Light? What is this _light?_ Is it heresy? It _sounds_ like heresy!" Unrestrained anger raised the witch's voice now.   
  
_How'd you...?_   
  
"My arm might rot off if I shake this... this devil's testicle! And the witch, why, she might utter something of use, and we most certainly can't have _assistance,_ for _it_ _too_ , is **clearly** heresy! As is honesty!"   
  
_You knew I didn't use your...?  
_ "I'm... sorry for..."   
  
"Your useless trickery didn't make you sorry," pain stained her voice for a moment, "the consequences did. Keep your apology and leave my bag. I won't pester you any longer."   
  
...  
  
...   
  
The silence grew unbearable, shifting into questions that demanded answers. Demanded to know what she would do, how she would do it, when she would do it, why she...   
It was too much, and... and she couldn't leave things like this anyway.   
  
Her chin dipped. "Please stay..." Words barely came out — her throat was so tight. "...I didn't think I'd hurt you. And I wouldn't have... gotten away... and..."   
"Please..." _I didn't know. I wouldn't have..._  
  
"...Fine. I'll stay, and offer a helpful word or two. It's nothing to get upset over, you stubborn girl." The witch's subdued, weary demeanor gradually returned, but didn't feel the same.  
  
"I'm not!" Her voice nearly cracked again. _Knights don't get upset._  
  
"...Well, at least you recover with impressive haste. I trust you'll listen to me henceforth."   
  
_Already took her advice. And her things..._ She swallowed, defeated by realization. _And the ladder she made with witchcraft, I used. If that's heresy, then it's probably too late. Forgive me, Weeping Lord._  
 _And her. She must have been tiny when she... She couldn't have known in time. Forgive her too._  
  
Determined to mend her mistake, Mura grabbed the squishy stone from the bag and shook it with what little strength remained in her arm. It illuminated the empty cavern, revealing her exhausted form, and answering a question for each of them.   
  
"You've come to your senses, I see."   
  
"You see... more than you're lettin' on," she told the witch, who apparently had a way of knowing whether her 'light-producing trinket' was in use or not.  
  
...   
  
"I couldn't hear you otherwise. As such, I felt it necessary, and you were unlikely to agree to it."   
  
"So you're copyin' my senses... or somethin'?"   
  
"Or something, yes."   
  
"So... _your_ cunt's on fire too?"   
  
_Sigh_ "That would seem to be somewhat accurate."


	3. Frog-Creature, Words

Mura

  
"...So, if you're copyin' my senses, do you only see what I see? Can you see your room, I mean?"   
  
_"All_ thy senses, borrowed, not duplicated, merely overshadow mine — not unlike a semi-translucent crystalline layer before my eyes, or a mitten upon-"   
  
Mura stopped listening to shield her sanity from that affront to language, and instead observed the wrinkled passage she shambled through. She couldn't help imagining the starving fire that must have melted the pale rock into these strange shapes. The witch claimed it was formed by water, but she could recognize teasing by ear. It was much more apparent now.   
Only when the witch had ceased wasting her breath did Mura reply. "You're doin' that on purpose, aren't you?"   
  
"Confounding thee with this extensive vocabulary of mine as playful retribution? Perish the consideration, Mura, I beseech thee."   
  
_Right._  
She reached back to her own ass: protected by mere cloth, and pinched.   
  
"Honestly, projection is unbecom- iaU!" the witch squealed in an unusually girlish manner, then went deathly quiet, to nurse her dignity, perhaps.   
  
_It still hasn't gone away..._ Mura stumbled, resting her weight against the uneven wall, marinating in cold sweat and inner heat. Each and every vine was still there, fondling and carressing, for all her body knew. A constant, phantom itch she couldn't rid herself of. _She must be feelin' it too... Guess that's why she's pissed again.  
_ "Why're you still borrowin' my senses? Wouldn't it be easier for you if you didn't?"   
  
"I _did_ stop once, if you'll recall. Only to find you minutes away from impregnation-" the witch paused as Mura's belly grew warmer with need. "Now we're... practically in heat. I half-expect you'd catch fire in my absence."   
  
A part of her wanted to hear what _else_ would have been done to her, and was shoved to the wayside for its transgression. "I don't even have a torch."   
  
"And I half-expect you'd ca-"   
  
"Woah!" Mura spotted and rushed towards a murky lake with renewed excitement and energy. It must have been large, as the light-stone could only illuminate part of it. The surface remained still until she removed her gauntlets and washed the sweat from her hair. The water's stale smell overpowered her own.  
  
"Hmm, I'd almost forgotten it resides here. Now we know where to go when you _do_ eventually catch fire."   
  
"It's like a tide pool!" Mura was too enamoured with the familiar sight to acknowledge the jab.  
  
"Is it? I've never seen a ti-"   
  
"Yeah, We've got a bunch of 'em back home." Cherished memories once thought forgotten found her again as a wave licked her boots.  
  
"Mura."   
  
"Just much smaller and not so green."   
  
"Mura!"  
  
She brandished her steel as realization struck her, followed by a slimy, pink tentacle. A timely slash left it coiled around her blade, rather than her waist. Its newly soaked edge was harmless to the pulled-taut flesh. Her heels dug into the damp ground as it tried to reel her back into the darkness.   
_Dammit, let go!_ Her sword was pried away, and _she_ would have followed if her grip hadn't failed her.   
  
"Leave it and run. To the left."   
  
Mura landed on her rump and turned to scamper away from the sounds of twisting metal. _Left! Got it!_   
She was mere steps away from escape when one of her legs was hauled back, leaving her splayed out on the ground. Wasting not a moment, she crawled, only to be tugged towards the water, little by little. Her fingers found a 'stalagmite', as the witch called it, but could only hold onto it for so long, as that perverse plant had wrung her of strength as if she were a wet rag. By the time she was yanked away, her leggings were left half-undone, revealing a tense, firm ass — whose pale flesh stood in _striking_ contrast to the rest of her tanned body.  
  
In bursts, the disgusting _thing_ dragged her closer to the edge despite her increasingly frantic resistance. Thankfully, it made no attempt to draw her into the rippling water — only reeling her back when she strayed too far. It could have claimed her already, but chose an alternative. Perhaps it wanted to watch her fight, and humble her with a single limb. _Smug bastard!_   
  
"Try to..." short-lived confusion left the witch mute.  
  
Mura was stripping, and had managed to slip one leg free by the time _it_ lumbered out of the water, soaking her in the cold liquid. Shivering, she nearly bared the other leg too, when a fat, pale underbelly drew her eyes away. _Too late..._  
Webbed toes left her gasping as the mossy beast's weight was pressed onto her armored back. Its tongue finished her work, dragging the leggings into its massive maw. The jaws bent metal without even trying, and devoured it whole. _Lord's tears, even iron!?_ _  
  
_"It won't eat you, or kill you, but..."  
  
The beast's leg resettled past her shoulder, only to be replaced by a bulging belly as it advanced. Its soft weight was more forgiving. Allowing her to breathe with some semblance of ease, and even push it back; but it sprang into place each time, punishing her for the attempt.

Fury overwhelmed her as pulsating flesh pressed against her nethers, and the frog-creature began to rock back and forth. _I'll kill **you** , y'fuckin' bastard! _She kicked its belly with all of her inconsiderable might.  
  
The beast pinned her legs to its sides, leaving them to flail and shudder as its bumpy cock blindly nudged forward. Apparently deeming her disapproval unworthy of reaction, it smeared her thighs with sludge before finding a warm, reluctant hole.   
"Don't... touch me!" She tried to bite the beast as its efforts redoubled, and spat, as if that could reverse her mistake. Tasting the slippery, salty skin would be enough to deter her even if her teeth _could_ pierce, or inconvenience it.  
  
The massive creature didn't see her as a threat — as worthy prey. It didn't even bother to look at her as its leg lazily pushed her cheek into the smooth cave floor. _It's too strong! And so... damn... **heavy!**_ Her hands could only scratch at its muscular legs. She could have been dragged away, or leashed by its tongue, but a mounting was more than enough to pen her in.   
  
"Big, isn't he?" The witch's restrained, quiet voice took on an almost sultry tone.   
  
"What?" She exhaled, unsure of what she'd heard.   
  
Taking advantage of her surprise, the beast's tip slipped and leaked into her clenched up entrance, preparing it to accept more. She scowled, stifling a pained whine.   
Her resistance wouldn't matter for long.   
  
"I mean to say the creature is rather impressive. He must be excited, as well, to bridle such a strong, willful mate."  
  
"What are you..." she groaned, "talking about?"   
  
The beast made progress with each thrust, gradually softening her up, despite her stubbornness.  
  
"He appears to be in need of a broodmare. Meaning, of course, that you are taking your first steps towards domestication, Mura."  
  
She shuddered. _That damn feeling again..._   
  
It only encouraged the witch. "He's certain to tame you either way, broodmare. Why resist? Why not simply... allow it?"   
  
For a mere moment, her resistance relented as those damnable words echoed within her. She squealed, and the fat _thing_ slipped in, spreading her open like fingers never could. It was too late, but she reflexively clamped down, only for its springy flesh to bounce back and give her a nice, big **stretch**.   
She rapidly exhaled through her mouth before shutting her eyes and biting into her lip.   
  
"Theeere you go," the witch lowered her voice to a soothing whisper. "All he needed was a moment of weakness. You'll make a wonderful bride, giving it to him so soon." A quiet, wet rhythm shadowed her words.   
  
_A... a bride?!_  
  
The beast rocked more intensely now, leaving both lovers' slippery flesh jiggling after each of his slow, filling thrusts.  
  
"Don't say... that...!"  
  
The witch ignored her as the rhythm quickened. "And such a plump belly as well. Go on, feel it. Yours might resemble it by the time the first clutch is due."   
  
_Clutch?_ Whatever it meant, the way it was uttered set her body alight.  
"Shut up... I'm not..." She drooled, her eyes glazed over, and her kicking slowed. Her pussy was so slick, she couldn't even slow her foe down, and tensing up gradually became impossible for the exhausted muscle. Perhaps she'd marinated in lust for too long, perhaps the beast's liquids simply had this effect on women, or perhaps this one was soft and receptive by nature. Regardless, it kept thrusting, pinning her down to make sure she could do nothing but endure and fall for him.   
  
"...His tip is kissing your... mmf, your tender little cervix — the gates of your womb. Do you know why that is, broodmare?"   
  
"NhH..." her weak, trembling hands clutched the frog's legs for support as its slimy tongue leaked out onto her breastplate. Her body had lost to it at every turn thus far and clearly wouldn't stop here. Defeat was too... addictive.  
  
"Only one small moment of weakness. Only _one_ more and he'll make you his bride." Subdued moans surfaced.   
  
_I..._  
  
"You'll give it to him, won't you?"   
  
_Please..._  
  
It pushed further in, deeper than anything ever had, opening her up for impregnation, so eager to seal the deal.   
  
"Give in, little broodmare. Give in for me."   
  
_I... yes!_   
  
"Give in, give in!"   
  
"Take m-!" _  
  
_His oversized tongue slipped into Mura's mouth, which worshipped it in a fit of madness. Her disheveled face twisted in beloved disgust. Sludge dribbled down her lips. Her eyes lost focus, and she broke. _  
  
_"Become... his... AAaAAAAahH!" The witch gave voice to her perversion, while Mura could only gag as her throat was violated.  
  
His thick warmth spilled into her womb in bursts, with no intention of stopping until it overflowed with small, sticky orbs. Her body mindlessly squirmed around it, unable to cope with the pleasure as her abdomen distended enough to make it clear she was claimed. The fire within dimmed, finally sated. Rigid limbs went limp, and eyelids sank.  
 _  
_

* * *

 _  
_"-ra! Mura!"  
  
Her eyelids fluttered and parted.  
 _...What?  
  
_ "I suggest you hurry. It may not have congealed yet."   
  
"Whuh?" Mura's mouth was stuck. As if someone had filled it with a cheek-bulging mass of resin. Her lips could not meet, nor stop half-congealed trails of this 'resin' from slowly dribbling down her chin. _What? Why is...?_  
Whatever it was, it kept her breastplate glued to the ground, and her hands to her rump. Naturally, she struggled, rising onto her knees and inadvertently spreading her cheeks as if begging for more. _I look like a damn mutt..._ She squeezed her eyelids shut in shame.   
  
"Nevermind. I promise I'll be there before it comes back. I would be with you _already,_ but... I seem to have lost hold of consciousness." Hints of regret permeated her words, but the witch made no attempt to address her prior misconduct.   
"Fear not, the eggs will not hatch yet."   
  
_**EGGS!?**_  
  
She strained to expel the suddenly obvious weight in her belly, but the vile thing refused to budge.   
  
"Don't bother; he filled your slumbering body with mucus in order to ensure pregnancy. I'll take care of it."   
  
Images of its plump tongue coating her with the slime invaded her mind, and made her shudder. It could have slathered her in the stuff, if it wanted to; made it so she couldn't move a toe out of line.   
  
_Smug bastard's gonna keep me here, slobber on me... Keep me muzzled like an animal, waitin' to be bred!_ "NwH!" Mura thrashed, fueled by rage and hatred for the creature. _I'm not your bride! You'll never 'tame' me, you fuckin' tadpole!_  
  
"You'll hurt y-"   
  
Her right hand tore free of the hardened sludge and hurriedly helped the left. That done, she pried her breastplate open, wriggled free of the restraints that were once her clothes, and bolted out of the cavern.   
  
...  
  
And then returned for the bag, and _then_ bolted out of the cavern.  


* * *

  
She grimaced, having dragged the slimy plug out of her mouth with a _**pop.**_ It was almost as large as her fist.   
  
"I'm impressed. My prior estimation of your competence was incorre-"   
  
"Why're you actin' like nothing happened!? The hell'd you say all that crap for!? What's wrong with you!?" Mura scowled, strangling the seashell in her palm.   
  
"...Apologies. My words are failing me... or I them." She fell silent for a while. "...I was in no position to stop it, so I wanted you to enjoy it. Inaction felt incorrect."   
  
"I didn't _enjoy_ it!"   
  
" **I can-!** " the witch stopped to exhale and restrain her emotions."I felt everything _you_ felt, and swooned by the end, as you know. ...Apologies. I'm in no position to judge you, or tell anyone, and I would never do so regardless."  
  
 _But how can...?! I...! You don't..._   
Her scowl softened into a frown. It didn't feel right yelling at someone who only meant to help, no matter how misguided their attempt was. And infuriating... and scary.  
  
"You didn't choose to enjoy it. Please... stop punishing yourself for it. Life needs no assistance to be painful."   
  
...  
  
"How'd you know it wouldn't eat me?" Mura dropped the subject. It would only make things worse.  
  
"A growing majority of the cavern's denizens seems disinterested in killing much of anything, least of all: potential mates."   
  
_Lord's tears, just use small words, it's not so hard._   
"So how's the 'growing majority' eat and grow?"   
  
"I don't know. Not yet. Regardless, I'll escort you out. Nothing will-"   
  
"Wait..."   
  
"..."   
  
"I..." _No armor, no sword, no shield, no coin. Bastard frog...  
_ She fiddled with the seashell. _What's there to go back to? What else is there to do...?_ She held no illusions of what would happen if she were found on the road — naked and weak. No one would look for a lost foreigner. Barely anyone bothered to look for a _local._ _.._ _'Least **you're** ready to escort me... and stuff... you damn weirdo._ "The boy might still be here."   
  
"You mean to rescue him nude and weaponless, despite what you've experienced?"   
  
She strategically positioned the bag to cover her privates, while her shell-wielding hand tried and failed to cover her ass. "With a bag of glass tubes and a strange witch at my side, yeah." The words weren't as embarrassing in her head. "I don't have anythin' left, so... help me out...   
Please?"   
  
"..."   
  
"You need those leaves, right?" she remembered and added quickly, "We can carry lots more of 'em _together."_  
  
"...'Impressed' fails to describe the half of it. Well then, you'll have my assistance once I catch up."   
  
"Thank you. I'll keep looking." Waiting for a witch to solve all her problems sounded nice by now, but it wasn't knightly. "Don't want some asshole frog to get him." Mura eyed her belly with distaste.  
  
"If you're certain."   
  
"I am, and uh... feels like I should have asked what your name is already..."   
  
...  
  
_"Feels like,_ doesn't it?" _  
_


End file.
